Price of another's sin
by AJ Morrelli
Summary: In the wake of blood mages and the Blight, the Circle had become little more than a prison. Anders finds freedom among the Wardens, but can he keep it? Some AU-ness.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: First, disclaimer. I do not own Dragon Age, Awakenings, or the characters therein, with the exception of Zaphyre's name and personality. This is done purely for entertainment purposes. Second, blame Oliversgurl for this one. Again. She put the little plot bunny in my head and we started writing with the same idea and got two distinctly different stories *laughs* (Her's is much more fun than mine. Go check out _Magic's Slave _if you get the chance.) As such, this is a bit of an AU wherein the mages are little more than slaves in a Circle run by iron-fisted Templar. The rating is more for the later chapters...and about that, this is my first foray into a chaptered story, so bear with while I get the hang of it *laughs* Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I didn't do it."

Anders held up his hands, easing as far away as possible from the now burning remains of a darkspawn as well as the corpses of the templar that had been his escorts.

"Really?" The leather-clad woman that had just come through the door to see his spell crossed her arms, arching a brow at him. He caught the touch of the Orlesian accent in her voice, recognizing it from the others he'd heard around the keep.

"Well, you saw the darkspawn, but the templar? There's no way I could have done that. They-" He shook his head, hanging it in defeat. "Believe what you want to. I was just defending myself."

"You stand a better chance of doing that coming with us." She indicated the armored warrior that was with her, another woman. "Provided you can do that again."

He merely nodded, looking around. The templar had left his staff propped in the corner, so he retrieved that and fell in step with the two of them as they hurried through the rest of the keep. He thought he might pass out from exhaustion by the time they reached the roof, his companions needing his magic just as much as their blades. He hadn't felt this taxed since his Harrowing.

"Here." The woman rummaged in the bag that she had slung over her shoulder, pulling out a lyrium potion for him to drink.

He blinked at it, taking the vial in his hands. "Thank you." He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or wary. A powerless mage was one that was easier to control, but obviously Zaphyre, as he'd heard her called, didn't care. Undoing the cork, he swallowed it down in two gulps. It was weak, but it took the edge off of his trembling muscles.

Looking around, he was surprised to find that no one was watching him. Zaphyre and Mhairi were talking with the seneschal, and the dwarf they'd picked up, Oghren, seemed more interested in hacking the darkspawn into smaller pieces. He wasn't sure if that was to make them burn better or out of some need to make them bleed even more. He really didn't want to ask.

"Hey, Sparklefingers! Come take care of this, would you?" The dwarf was currently pouring the contents of a small keg over the creatures' remains.

"Er, yes, Ser. Right...Right away." Maybe he should have just made for the door when he had the chance.

"But what did they want?" Zaphyre was saying, rubbing her brow as she stood before Varel, the seneschal. "And why-Oh, Andraste's tits, now what?"

Another protest formed on the mage's lips until he realized that she wasn't talking about him. Old habits died hard. Instead, she seemed to be regarding what looked like a procession that was headed for the main gates of the keep.

Leaving the corpses to burn on the rampart stones, the small group filed down into the courtyard. Whoever was approaching was obviously important, given the entourage that was trailing behind her. Blonde. Attractive but stern looking. His attention then shifted to the woman walking beside her. Oh, Maker, no. He stumbled and Oghren actually caught him before he hit the dirt.

"Easy there, kid. You're making me look bad."

Anders couldn't speak. All he wanted to do was make himself as small and unassuming as possible. Maybe even go hide back inside the keep. Weren't there corpses he could be attending to? Anywhere but under Rylock's gaze. He glanced around, looking for somewhere he might excuse himself to.

Too late. She left the woman's side and approached, hooking her fingers into the collar of his robes, jerking him forward. He immediately dropped his gaze to the ground at their feet.

"Where are your keepers, mage?" When he didn't answer, she pulled harder. "Where are they?"

His jaw trembled, eyes closing. "Dead," he whispered. "Dark-"

He never finished the word. Her mailed hand struck him across the cheek, the metal cutting into his skin. The grip on his robes pulled him downward, forcing him to his knees. "And why is it that you live, then? Finally gone abomination, have you?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, I-" He started to raise his eyes, immediately dropping them to the ground again, letting out a soft whimper as she brought her hand up again.

"Rylock!" The blonde woman's voice halted what he knew was going to be another strike.

"Majesty, he needs to come with us. I need to take him back to the Tower immediately. Someone like him cannot be allowed to be left without supervision for very long."

"That won't be a problem." He risked a look out of the corners of his eyes as he realized that was Zaphyre speaking. "He can stay here. He's already proven useful."

"Unacceptable!" Rylock turned on the smaller woman who gave no sign of backing down to the Templar's fury. "He's already escaped once. He obviously needs a few more lessons on how to properly behave."

"Mage." He didn't dare look over at her, at least not until a second, insistent, "Mage!" had him glancing in her direction, though he still couldn't bring himself to look at her straight on. "I can invoke the Right of Conscription. You stay here, but that makes you mine."

"I won't allow it!" Rylock stalked over and glared at Zaphyre.

"The Right doesn't give a damn about what you want. And neither do I." The other woman shifted her shoulders back, rolling her neck. "Well?" She seemed to be ignoring the seething templar.

She was actually giving him a _choice_? Admittedly, though, it wasn't much of one. Go back to the Tower with Rylock and be forced into more conditioning or serve a woman he knew nothing about...other than she'd been willing to trust him with guarding her back.

He turned, bowing his head once more, though this time it was in deference to the Warden. "I'm yours, my lady."

There was the sound of rattling metal as Rylock stalked over again, seizing his robes at the shoulder and hauling him to his feet. He barely managed to stand before she pulled him in close to her, hissing in his ear. "Maybe I ought to become one of the Grey, too, mage. She obviously needs the numbers. Then there'd be someone around here that knows how to keep you in line."

Eyes shut, he didn't dare say anything, nor look over at Zaphyre. Either one would give Rylock leave to strike him again. Constant discipline was the way the templars made sure their lessons took. He only hoped she couldn't feel him shaking, though that was probably impossible.

"I'll just take the mage, thank you." He couldn't believe the constant cheek that came out of the diminutive woman's mouth. Something like that would have gotten him beaten. Or worse. He supposed being a Commander afforded you leeway that others didn't have. "And now, Anora, was it? If there's nothing else, I believe I have a keep to begin clean up within."

He snuck a look at the blonde from under his lashes. _Queen _Anora looked less than pleased with the dismissal. Just what sort of madwoman had he agreed to serve?

The grip on his robes tightened, drawing his attention back to the templar that was still holding him. "Don't think you've won, mage," Rylock hissed, keeping her tone for his ears alone. "The first time you make a mistake, I'll have you back to the Tower and then I'll see that you never leave again."

Shoving him roughly away, she strode back across the courtyard and formed rank a couple of steps behind the queen as she and her small group of guards made their way out through the battered gates. Anders watched them go with mixed feelings, the most predominant one being the dread that had settled in his stomach.

Varel and Zaphyre seemed deep in conversation and he was vaguely aware that Oghren was hitting on Mhairi, if his constant slew of remarks about her breasts could be taken as such. He'd been forgotten about for now and that suited him just fine. He'd survived this long by doing his best to remain invisible and saw no need to change tactics.

Somewhere in the darkness beside him, though, something groaned. Starting, he turned toward the sound and squinted between a pair of storage buildings, suddenly realizing that there was someone lying there. Walking over, he knelt down, getting a better look at the man that seemed to have been tossed into the barrels that were splintered behind him.

"Mercy, please," he managed to rasp out.

Without thinking, Anders reached out with his magic, a glow beginning around his hand and trailing down as he passed it over the man's chest, feeling the tugs of it as the power knit bone and flesh, mending what had been damaged. The man's neck arched and he groaned in pain as the energies began putting him back together.

"Mage! What are you doing?"

He immediately stopped, the man letting out another groan as he did so. Turning to face Zaphyre, he saw her stalking over toward them. "He's...I was..." What an idiot. He'd cast without order. Even if it meant saving the man's life, there was no way he could excuse himself from that.

She took in the situation with a quick glace. "Andraste's knickers, man, what are you waiting for? Fix him!" She waggled her hand at him.

"Yes. Of course. Right away." He didn't hesitate a second time, pouring more of his magic into finishing what he'd started. Despite the whimpers and groans of pain, the man was soon breathing easier and on his feet again with Zaphyre's help.

As she sent him on his way back to the interior of the keep, Anders remained kneeling on the ground, waiting for her to say something about his breach of order. When he heard her footsteps along the stone, he risked glancing up, watching her retreating toward the door herself. There were worse punishments, he supposed. Unless she was just going inside to get something to beat him with. Just kneeling here until she fetched him, though, that was something he could endure.

"Mage!"

He winced. Could he do nothing right? Then again, Zaphyre wasn't exactly giving him any orders to follow, either. He turned enough to let her know that he was looking at her, his eyes trailing up just a little.

"We've a ceremony to perform. Come on."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Quick disclaimer again, jic. I don't own Dragon Age, Awakenings, or the characters therein outside of Zaphyre's name and personality. That said, here we meet another of the players and get a small peek into Anders' head.

* * *

The potion that he'd drunk had been vile tasting and he'd woken up on the floor of Varel's quarters after enduring what seemed like an eternity of seeing darkspawn screaming in his head. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he groaned, putting his head in his hand, eyes pinched shut to escape the wave of nausea that washed over him.

"Easy now. It's always worse the first time," said a soft voice beside him. Zaphyre knelt there with a mug of water in her hand.

"Thank you." He took the mug, realizing that his hands were shaking. Bringing it to his lips, he swallowed it down in three gulps, which made him cough.

Her hand rubbed small circles on his back. "Take it easy. There's more, if you want it."

When he could breathe again, he glanced around, realizing that they were alone in the room. But Oghren and Mhairi had... He brought a hand up, massaging his eye with the heel of his hand. "What-?"

"You survived the Joining. You're a Grey Warden now."

"Oh. I...suppose I should thank you." He smiled a little, realizing that his cheek was still sore from when Rylock had hit him.

"You served well, fighting for my home. I thought you might like to continue doing that."

"If that's your will."

"I think that it is."

"As you bid then." He bowed his head to her as best he was able, waiting on her to give her next order.

With a soft grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and he could hear her walking away once more. Maker take him, this felt like some kind of test. Did he stay silent? Did he speak? He _hated_ when people played these games. They never told the players the rules, only using them as an excuse to abuse their power over others.

"Commander?" He heard her stop and braced himself for whatever might follow. When nothing did, he licked his lips and continued. "What...What do you bid of me now?"

She was quiet a moment. "Rest for now. There will be plenty of work come the morrow." And she vanished out of the room.

Pushing himself to his feet, Anders hugged his arms around his chest. What had he been dropped in to? Zaphyre's attitude toward him was puzzling. She didn't truly order him around and he was actually frightened by the liberty he seemed to have been given. In the Circle, there was no such leeway. You did what you were told or you were beat for it. If you were lucky. Lessons, chores, sleep, that was all. Unless the templar had something else in mind. The ones like Carroll, he didn't mind. They simply watched over him, made sure he did his duty and didn't turn into a raging abomination under their watch. Then there were the others... He moved closer to the fire, feeling the uncomfortable sensation that crept along his skin. They were the ones that made sure the mages were properly "disciplined." Ones like Rylock that reveled in their power over those that had no say in how they were treated. The ones that had made him want to flee in the first place.

It was a foolish venture and he should have known that he'd be caught eventually. And yet it was better to try and fail than to keep living as he had been. Perhaps part of him had hoped that the templar that had captured him would have killed him for it. He should be so lucky. No, they thought bringing him back to the Tower was a much better idea. They also thought telling him, in great detail, what sort of disciplinary measures were waiting for him would make him all the more eager to go.

As it had gotten late, they sought quarters for the night here at Vigil's Keep. The Wardens had welcomed them in and given the group of them private rooms away from the main barracks. He'd settled into one corner, hoping that the other men would either nod off right away or get so engrossed in either cups or cards that they'd forget he was even there. Mercifully, three of them had. The other saw fit to wait until the others were snoring.

That might have been what saved his life. The fact that when the darkspawn had burst into the room, he'd been awake and able to conjure up enough magic to defend himself. He rubbed his brow. Defend _himself_. Maybe Rylock was right and he had killed the templar, even if it was by his inaction. Maker help him, maybe he did deserve to be punished.

"Hey, Sparklefingers!"

Oghren's boisterous voice startled him out of his thoughts. "S-Ser?"

"Having a wake for the fallen. C'mon." The dwarf staggered away from the door. Perhaps he'd already started celebrating.

In truth, Anders didn't feel like getting drunk. Not that he'd ever had the luxury, mind you. You simply didn't give something that lowered inhibitions to someone that was supposed to be in control of themselves under any circumstances.

Remain in control. That was the templars' excuse for their abuses. Many claimed that they were merely conditioning the mages to hold on to both their emotions and their wits under any circumstances. He snorted. Any circumstances. Those often included what any sane person might consider torture: beatings, whippings, grueling physical tasks. And then there were the other methods, usually in the form of belittling them with words, reminding them just how worthless they were. Not to mention...He shook his head. The sour feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't feel like letting his mind travel that particular route.

He'd often thought they acted this way to _try_ and push the mages into becoming abominations. After all, that would be the perfect excuse. A mage going mad, needing to be put down. He often wondered why more didn't favor that method of escape, but the simple answer was in what he had been taught about abominations. Once you gave yourself over to the demon, it was no better than being a slave to the templar. You were no longer in control. Your body simply became a host for the denizen of the Fade that you conjured up and even if life was a living hell in the Tower, it was still _your_ life.

His attempt had been different. Opportunity had presented itself and he took it. Even his short few weeks of freedom had been bliss compared to what he'd left behind, despite the fact that he'd been sleeping against the ground, stealing his meals where he could. For the first time in his life, he'd actually felt in control. And then the templar had found him and his dreams has been rent to the hells. Still, he'd had his taste of freedom and it would be enough to succor him, or so he'd prayed.

The Maker had a funny way of answering his children.

Oghren's promised wake seemed to consist of dinner and the dwarf passing out under the table while the other two Wardens sat in relative silence. He found out from Zaphyre that Mhairi had not survived the Joining, having passed while he was unconscious and dreaming. After that bit of news, they had little more to say to one another, though Anders' mind cycled through a good number of questions that he wasn't sure were appropriate to ask.

Zaphyre, for her part, still continued to puzzle him. She seemed to hold no fear of his being a mage, so she was either ignorant of their potential or, and he was guessing this, didn't give a damn. She was petite, even for a woman, with dark curls and fair eyes that he wasn't sure were green or a pale brown. Possessing a grace he'd only seen in cats, she also seemed to have the demeanor of a thundercloud, at times quietly rolling along and others raging fierce. To say she was the most fascinating woman he'd ever met wouldn't quite be fair, given he had few to compare her to. She was, however, slowly becoming his ideal, a thought that likely should have scared him if he'd been thinking a little straighter.

"Commander?" Varel approached from the far end of the hall.

Anders caught her pinching the bridge of her nose before she looked up, her face a perfectly calm and saccharine mask. "What is it, seneschal?"

"Another matter has come to our attention. It seems that before the darkspawn attacked, the other Wardens had captured a prisoner."

"Prisoner? I was unaware we even had dungeons." She laughed softly.

Anders wondered if that spoke more of her nature. To live in such a world that didn't need things like that. He realized that she was rising and quickly got to his feet as well.

The woman tutted over him. "Stay and eat. You're too thin as it is and being a Warden will only make your appetite worse. Varel, I hope the larder is well stocked?"

"Your fellow Wardens _have _been living here for half a year, Commander."

"Very good then. Show me to this prisoner."

Anders sank back down to the bench, watching the two of them walk out. To leave him alone like this would be unthinkable back at the Circle. Granted he wasn't exactly alone, but he had a feeling Oghren wouldn't be moving until sunrise. And even then he wasn't sure.

Claiming another roll, he picked at it, nibbling on bits of crust that he pulled away. Maybe tucking some of these away for later wouldn't be a bad idea. He glanced around to make sure some stray servant wouldn't notice him slipping one or two into his sleeves. And Zaphyre had told him to stay and eat, so a second helping of stew wouldn't be completely out of the question. She'd eaten three herself.

He was sopping up the remnants of his gravy with yet another roll when Zaphyre and Varel returned. Trailing after them was a young man, around his age or perhaps a few summers older. He was dressed in plain clothing, though a guard trailed after the other three carrying what looked like leather armor, a blade, and with a bow slung over his shoulder. Black hair framed a face that was made up of sharp lines and a rather thin set pair of lips. Though the other two saw fit to ignore him, Anders felt himself keeping very still as the man glanced his way, one brow arching higher in surprise as he caught sight of him sitting there.

Sucking in a breath, the mage quickly dropped his gaze to the table in front of him, though he watched the small procession from the corner of his eyes, realizing that the three of them were headed into the western portion of the keep, where Varel's quarters were located. The guard branched off and went east, toward the barracks. He waited until he couldn't hear their footsteps any more and pushed himself up, meal forgotten, and trailed after them.

The door was shut by the time he got there, but leaning close, he could make out Varel's quiet voice speaking a bit of...poetry? No. No, it was the words from his own Joining. They were making the prisoner into a Warden? He supposed it was no different than his own situation. He heard the other man speak, unable to make out his words through the door. Silence, and then the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Varel again. "The young Howe is strong, Commander. For good or ill, he will live."

"Leave us, then. I'll tend to him when he wakes."

"Commander."

Hearing Varel's footsteps, Anders began his retreat back to the hall. He wasn't quick enough, though, stopping as he heard the seneschal calling out to him. Head bowed, hands folded in front of him, he turned slowly toward the older man. Varel had seemed indifferent to him for the most part, but then, he hadn't gone out of his way to interact with the man, either.

"You noticed our newest recruit, I see."

"Yes, Ser. He's...the prisoner you spoke of?" He raised his eyes just slightly.

"Aye. Took four Wardens to capture him the first time. And she's all but turned him loose."

"Who...?" He hesitated. "Who is he, Ser?"

"Nathaniel Howe. He's the son of the former arl. The man was killed during the Blight and the lands granted to the Wardens by the Queen. The Commander spoke to him but won't tell me what was said. I only wonder if she didn't expect him to survive the Joining."

"Like Mhairi?" he asked quietly.

"Something like that. Though our Mhairi wanted to be a member of the Grey. Young Howe..." He trailed off. "I wonder if the hangman's noose would have been kinder."

Anders found himself unconsciously rubbing at his neck, stopping the second Varel's attention was on him again. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Ser." He dropped his gaze again.

"Curiosity's only natural. Now, back to the hall with you. Tarry too long and the servants will clean up dinner before you're done."

A little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, Ser." Bowing to the other man, with a bit of a nod thrown in for emphasis, he turned and hurried back, definitely not wanting the pot cleared away before he'd had a chance at a third bowl himself.


	3. Chapter 3

((Quick author note: Disclaimer in that I own nothing Dragon Age related save Zaph's name and personality. Purely for entertainment purposes. This chapter's a bit long, but it's necessary to blend the two parts together. Here the boys get a little bit of playtime together. Let's see what happens...))

* * *

To say the following days were interesting would have been an understatement. Anders mostly did his best to stay out of the way, or more specifically, out of Zaphyre's way as she blew from room to room, taking stock in what had been damaged, what supplies were needed, and just how badly the Wardens here had been decimated by the attack.

For the most part, his duty was to see that the pyres for the corpses stayed lit until the bodies were nothing but ash. It wasn't the best smelling job he could have been assigned, but the solitude at least gave him time to think and enjoy the idea of simply being _outside_.

Land had been cleared well away from the Keep, so he was left here unsupervised. Had he chose to, he didn't doubt he could have been halfway to Amaranthine before they realized that he wasn't actually there any longer. And yet, he truly possessed no desire to run away.

Zaphyre allowed him to use his magic as he saw fit, even encouraging it, so long as he wasn't doing anything to harm anyone else. And the only time that idea crossed his mind was when his mind drifted back to times in the Tower. He tried his best to not linger on those moments, though, preferring the present much more than the past.

The Keep itself, though large, didn't hold a lot of people, thanks to the darkspawn attack. A handful of servants survived the night and they were quite enough to tend to the four Wardens and the few important guests that still resided in the Vigil proper. Though Anders had expressed a willingness to help, Zaphyre refused to let him, outside of the occasional flame to light the hearths or healing spell when one of the dwarven masons had a bad turn with the stone. He wasn't used to being idle, so he was grateful when she finally put him to work.

A grunt brought his attention to the path that led toward the keep. Sagged under the weight of the body he was carrying, Nathaniel Howe looked none too pleased to be carting a hurlock corpse out to the pyres. He dumped it onto a pile that had yet to be lit.

"Least this one's pretty cooked already," he remarked, stretching his back. "Should make good kindling for the others."

Anders went still for a moment before turning to look at the mound of bodies. "What did you say, Ser?"

"I said this one looks like he was cooked already. I wonder if he got too close to that insane dwarf's lightning powder."

"Perhaps." He found himself having a hard time swallowing. "Were...Were there more corpses to bring?"

"Aye. Poor group of sods it looks like this one's friends tore through them easily enough." Nathaniel shook his head. "She'll probably have me carting them out next." His tone was bitter. He started to walk away when his footfalls stopped. "What's wrong, Mage. Are you ill from all this?"

The templars. He was going to be bringing out the templars next. Anders had brought his hand up, covering his mouth, eyes pinched shut. He could already see the bodies: the gashes from the blades, places where teeth had rent flesh, a peppering of genlock arrows that had stilled the man that had been kneeling in front of him. All he could do was shake his head.

"I'll see if Zaphyre has another potion for you, if that's what you need." Nathaniel didn't seem certain, but he was obviously not going to trouble himself over Anders' distress.

He could only shake his head again. He just wanted the other man to go away, to be left with his...his what? It certainly wasn't grief. His guilt? Evidence of his crime? Whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to face it. Suddenly running away to Amaranthine didn't seem all that bad.

When he opened his eyes, Nathaniel had gone. His attention going to the path, he caught sight of his retreating back. Frowning, Anders walked over and sat on a toppled log, sliding his hands through his hair. It seemed only fitting, really. This was how everything began, so why shouldn't he be the one to put an end to it, too?

As he waited for Nathaniel to return with the first of the bodies, he frowned again as a thought struck him. Nathaniel would be returning with the bodies. Rylock had made her displeasure at their deaths abundantly clear. He reached up, brushing at the spot where his cheek was still a little tender. Thanks to some herbs Zaphyre had slapped onto his face, there wouldn't be any scar and the cut had healed up rather nicely. So why, if this were an offense she was going to _beat_ him for, were the bodies _still here_? These were men that she would have _killed_ him over, of that he had no doubt. He'd have been dead on the spot if Zaphyre hadn't been there. And for what? Something that she obviously equated with garbage, if she hadn't sent someone to collect the bodies yet, or at least sent word on how to take care of them.

Less than garbage. Less than a corpse. That's all his life was worth to her. And she would have left him here to burn alongside them. Realizing something like that...he knew how some of the templar felt about mages but this...this put it into an entirely different perspective.

It made him sick.

Raising his head, he fixed his gaze on the pyre that was still cool. A second later, his hand stretched out and a column of flame began whipping around the pile of corpses there, spiraling upward and roaring as it sucked in the air around it, igniting that as well. Fire seemed to stretch up to the clouds and outward as well, beginning to engulf the other mounds. Pushing himself up, he moved closer to the blaze, increasing its intensity with his proximity. Even as close to the flame as he was, he barely felt the heat from it, hardly noticing anything beyond the embers that were starting to rain down.

Something thrummed near his ear. "...ge. Mage! Anders!"

His legs were swept out from under him and his backside hit the ground so hard that he couldn't even suck in breath. Panic washed over him then, especially as he felt a hand gripping his shoulder. Smacking it away, he managed to hiss out "Don't touch me!" before he called upon frost this time, solidifying the air into a pair of rather jagged spikes. Sensing someone behind him, he spun around, whipping the first bolt toward them, hearing it connect with something solid. As fast as he threw them, they were forming in his hand once again, though none seemed to be finding their mark a second time.

Kneeling on the ground, the fire still roaring behind him, he flicked his eyes back and forth, trying to locate who or what it was that struck him. He just caught the movement at his back when something sliced along his arm. Hissing again, he tried lashing out at it but connected with nothing.

"I'm not giving in, you hear me?" he growled. "Not again. Not without a fight." Another shadow flickered just out of his line of sight and as soon as he replaced his tossed bolt, nausea caused his stomach to lurch.

Maker what was wrong with him? His vision started to blur and he was seeing double at the same time. Dropping one of the ice bolts, he brought a cold hand to his forehead to try and clear it. It didn't help as a wash of dizziness overcame him and it was a very good thing he was kneeling already.

Before he blacked out, he swore he heard, "Sorry, Mage" from the shadows around him.

* * *

Waking again, he found himself tucked into his bed, brow furrowing as he did his best to remember how he got there.

The shadows. Fighting with someone. The fire. Oh, Maker, he was a dead man. Sent back to the Circle, no questions asked. Running away to Amaranthine was looking _exceptional _at the moment.

Sitting up, he felt a sting as he tried to move his arm. Shaking his head, he lay a hand over the wound and felt the cut there stitching up of its own accord, helped along by his magic. That done, he slid carefully from the bed and went over to try the door. Unlocked. Something was going right for him. Now if he could just leave the Keep without being seen by anyone, he might be fine.

Padding as quietly as he could down the corridor, he froze as he caught sight of two figures in the main hall of the Keep. One was reclining on a bench set beside the hearth, the other, smaller one stood in front of them. He peeked around the corner, trying to listen in and figure if it would be safe enough to try and slip by. As they spoke, he realized it was Nate and Zaphyre.

"Nathaniel." For some reason, he liked hearing their commander say the rogue's name, even if it sounded like she was lecturing him. "I trust you have a very good reason for poisoning your fellow Warden?"

"I was concerned. You saw the aftermath of that blaze he conjured up."

"I had given him instructions to burn the corpses. Perhaps he was being thorough?"

"Somehow, Commander, I rather doubt that. Especially given that I feared he was going to cast on me next." It must have been Nathaniel he was lashing out at, then. At least the other man wasn't telling Zaphyre about how he'd tried to freeze him on top of setting everything else on fire.

"Which explains why you _carried_ him into the Vigil?"

"I am not seeking vindication for my actions, Commander. You asked me to explain myself and I told you."

"And yet, you still have not told me why you felt it necessary to strike him unconscious."

"He's a mage," Nathaniel replied, as if that were the answer right there and for some, it would be.

"And?" Zaphyre pressed. "I'm well aware of that fact."

He could see the man rubbing at his forehead above the bridge of his nose. "You're Orlesian, Commander. Been in Ferelden for very long?"

She shook her head. "Just how long it took me to cross to the arling."

"That explains a few things. I take it you also haven't had dealings with many mages?"

"Constantly, actually."

"But back in Orlais?" She replied affirmatively. "And I take it your Circle there was unaware of what happened during the Blight?"

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

Anders leaned against the wall. It had _everything_ to do with it. Uldred. The blood mages. Irving's death. Wynne had tried to be a good example but one rose amid a bundle of deathroot made it no less poisonous. And then, after Cullen had succeeded Greagoir... He shook his head. That had been the beginning of the end.

Nathaniel, it seemed, was giving their commander a similar history lesson. Either word had spread that far or he was quick to gather information upon his return. Anders figured it had to be a little bit of both.

"I don't know if that was what might have been happening with Anders, but I didn't want to take the risk, and I wasn't about to kill him without explanation. Mages _always _have a templar around to keep an eye on them, to prevent that sort of lashing out and to keep them under control. You don't require that of him and I don't think he's used to the latitudes that you're giving him, Commander. When it comes to his magic, he has no one to rein him in and when it comes to his life, he has no one to keep him grounded."

"I see." Zaphyre remained quiet for a few moments, her lips pursed together. "I, for one, am already being pulled in too many directions at once, it seems. There are days I can barely tend to myself." She laughed softly. "Therefore, I defer to you, Nathaniel."

"I beg your pardon, Commander?" Anders nearly asked the same question.

She waved a hand at him. "If he's used to taking orders from someone, I give you that task. Oghren would have him fetching ale all the time and Varel has to tend to me. That's no good. You mind him."

"But, Commander, I'm not-"

She arched a brow at him. "You tell me these things and I have come up with a solution and now you tell me it's no good? Are you incapable of tending to a _grown man_, Nathaniel? It's not as though I'm asking you to feed and bathe him. Surely he can do _that_ by himself."

"Commander, you don't understand. Mages are-"

"No! You will do this." Maker help them, she _stomped _her _foot_. "This time it is an order."

Nathaniel glowered at her. "Fine."

Anders swallowed. So Nathaniel was to be his new keeper. Zaphyre was right, it could have been worse. It could have been Oghren. Still, if you gave a man a task he didn't want to do, that usually meant trouble somewhere down the line and past experience taught him that the trouble usually fell to the one lowest down.

They started walking together, headed for...Andraste's knickers, the rooms. He pushed himself away from the wall and scrambled to get ahead of them, hurrying back to his quarters before Zaphyre knew he'd snuck out. Something in the back of his mind told him that she might not exactly care, but she wasn't in charge of him any longer. That duty fell to the stern man that was walking beside her.

He was barely back in his room, sitting placidly upon the bed when she knocked. "Anders, may I come in?"

Before he could answer, the door was opened by Nathaniel. "You have company, Mage."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he swallowed, repressing the shudder that wanted to run through him. "Commander?" He sat on the bed, fists on his knees, not looking at the door.

Zaphyre snorted, casting Nathaniel a look. "I have been informed of something that I have apparently been rather lax in. From this evening on, should you need anything, I wish for you to consult with Nathaniel."

He tried to keep his shoulders from drooping. "As you bid, Commander," he breathed out softly.

"Good. I'll have Varel bring your things here, then, Nathaniel." She gave him a little shove that propelled him into the room and turned to go, pulling the door shut behind her.

"My things? What? Commander there isn't a-" She was already gone, either not hearing him or, more likely, ignoring him. "Need for that extreme. Maker's breath, I don't need to live _beside_ the man."

"The Commander's put you in charge of me, then, hasn't she?"

Nathaniel rubbed his brow, frowning. "Yes."

Anders stared at his fists. "As you bid, then," he murmured quietly, pushing himself to his feet to cross the room. He knew he had to give up his bed to Nathaniel and if he was to sleep on the floor, he'd prefer to do so near the fire, though the hearth was cool at the moment.

"There'll be no talking her out of this," he heard the other man mumble. Anders watched as he crossed the room, picking at the straps of his leathers as he did. "Do something about that fire, would you?"

"Yes, Ser." Anders held up a hand and tossed a small ball of flame into the kindling that was piled there.

Nathaniel jumped and let out a curse. "Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry." He held up his hands, shrinking back a little, and taking care to keep his head bowed. "That's what the Commander's had me do. I-"

Nathaniel let out a sigh. "Just...no more fire spells without warning me first, all right, Mage?"

"Yes, Ser." He held in his relieved sigh that he hadn't completely begun this on the wrong foot. He'd grown much too comfortable with the way Zaphyre treated him.

The other man went about stripping out of his leathers again, pulling at shoulder straps and ones on his side. It seemed a rather tedious process overall, but, in no small part thanks to him, they'd been necessary today.

Anders swallowed. "Shall I help?"

Nathaniel stopped, one hand hovering over a buckle, a dark brow arching. "Eager to please, are we, Mage?"

Ice settled in his stomach at those words. Anyone..._Anyone_...that had ever said that to him wanted more than what was originally asked.

"Y-Yes, Ser." He closed his eyes, the words barely passing his lips. He'd made the offer. It was his own fault.

"Come here, then. Get the top ones. I've a devil of a time with them." Nathaniel held out an arm, letting him see another pair of buckles just below where his arm met his chest.

Walking over, he reached a hand out slowly, fumbling with the strap, forcing it loose and separating the two portions of leather on that side. He walked around and repeated the task on the other. Risking a quick glance up, he caught the curious look on the rogue's face and began to help him ease the armor over his head. He saw a light shirt emerge from beneath the firmer garment.

There was no stand to drape the suit on. Not even chairs. He simply stood there, holding the top half of the armor while Nathaniel divested himself of the bottom. Once it was on a heap in the floor, the dark-haired man looked over at him.

"You'd stand there the whole night, holding that, if I told you to, wouldn't you?"

Anders stared at the floor. "If that's what you wanted." He didn't like the idea of giving the other man ideas.

"Well, drop it. And ready yourself for bed. Commander wants to see us in the morning."

"Ser?" Had he just said...?

He gestured toward the rest of it. "They're only leathers. Leaving them in a pile once or twice won't ruin them." He chuckled, heading for the bed. "Suppose you wouldn't know that, though, would you?" He sighed. "Maker's breath, please tell me I don't have to do your thinking for you, too."

Anders didn't trust himself to keep his tongue in check while answering that statement, so, for the time being, he remained mute. He dropped the breast plate on top of the skirts and then hesitated. Nathaniel had told him to ready for bed, but...

"Not tired?"

"I am. I just..."

"Then rest. I served in a company that didn't stand much on ceremony. You won't be the first man I've lain with."

Anders shook his head. He couldn't mean it _that_ way. He prayed to Andraste he didn't mean it _that_ way. "I don't have-"

"What, Mage?" There was that arch of a brow again.

He tugged on his robes. "These are all I have. The Commander fit me with more garments like this, but I don't have..." He gestured to the casual garments the other man was wearing.

"I won't take issue with that, Anders. We're both men. You possess nothing I don't."

The mage swallowed again. "As...As you bid, then." He turned his back on the other man, first kicking off his boots and then pulling his robes off over his head. Leaving them near the hearth, he slowly turned around and walked toward the bed.

It didn't help that Nathaniel was watching him. He hugged at his arms, rubbing a hand up and down his bicep. Given that his eyes never wandered up that far, he couldn't tell where Nathaniel was actually looking at him.

"You're acting like a worried bride, Mage. I'm not going to rape you in your sleep."

He cringed. Hearing it put so bluntly, he didn't know whether to take it for a jest or yet another promise that might yet be broken. Some of the templar had started out not caring but there weren't always female mages around to keep them occupied. Not to mention you needn't worry about siring a child with a _male _partner.

Nathaniel chuckled softly. "That was in poor taste. Come to bed, Anders. You'll catch your death outside the covers."

That invitation made him feel only slightly better. Still, at least he'd been told to get under the covers. Nate himself was still lying on top of them. He climbed into bed, shuffling around a little until he was comfortable, praying silently that Nathaniel wouldn't take it for more nervousness, even if it was.

"Remind me to talk to the commander in the morning," Nathaniel murmured. "I'll see about getting you something to sleep in." He rolled over onto his side. "Though I'd prefer it if it were your own room." The murmur sort of trailed off.

Anders lay awake for some time, just listening to Nathaniel's steady breathing. Any time the man shifted in his sleep, the mage tensed, expecting him to roll over and-

He shook his head and curled up a little tighter. What did it matter if he were awake or asleep when it happened? If it's what Nathaniel wanted, it wasn't his place to refuse. Lying here worrying about it was only going to make him even more tired come the morning. Forcing his own breathing to even out, he allowed himself to finally drift off, the Fade being mercifully quiet for him this night.


	4. Chapter 4

((Author's note: Still don't own anything of Dragon Age, Awakenings, or the characters, but Zaph is still mine, at least. Something a little quieter this time, as Anders gets to know his new keeper better and everyone prepares for an interesting surprise.))

* * *

Despite what he'd overheard between the noble and the Commander, he came to find that Nathaniel _was_ taking care of him, even if the other man wasn't obvious about it. His attention often came across as simple gestures or quiet words, something Anders was definitely not used to hearing out of someone who held dominion over him. He _asked_ him to do things for him instead of ordering him to. And no matter what the task, he would find some way to let the mage exercise his abilities, should they be appropriate. That, it amused him to realize, seemed to be as much a test for Nathaniel as it was for him, the rogue almost training _himself_ not to flinch whenever he would use his magic. To his credit, he was getting better and it was only the fire spells that really bothered him the most anymore.

During the evenings, too, Nathaniel kept true to his word, often merely falling asleep with nothing more than a quiet 'good night' passing between the two of them. He'd procured lighter robes for Anders to sleep in, the simple garments providing the mage with a measure of comfort that he couldn't put into words. He no longer jolted awake whenever he felt the bed shift and found himself falling asleep from genuine tiredness rather than finally passing out from exhaustion or simply not being able to keep his eyes open any longer.

This was probably the most important thing, since Zaphyre remained adamant that the two continue to share the room. Varel offered to bring in a second bed, though Anders found himself quietly requesting that he not.

The seneschal arched a brow. "Care to tell me why?"

Anders worried his lower lip for a moment, eyes slowly drifting up to meet those of the older man. "I...trust him, Ser. I'm not...afraid of him or anything that he might do. Having him beside me means that I can sleep and not worry about," he trailed off, barely mouthing out the word, "memories."

"Fair enough, then," came a quiet reply, there being more in the statement than simple acquiescence and he was grateful that he chose not to press.

Regardless of his feelings though, it wasn't above saying that there weren't a few problems with the two of them sharing a bed.

He was woken one morning by a sharp kick to his leg. Coming awake instantly, he looked up and around, expecting to see an angry Rylock standing over him. Even after everything, he sometimes still found himself disoriented in the morning, fearing that when he opened his eyes, he'd be back at the Circle, that his time with the Wardens was nothing more than a Fade-dream.

Relaxing back to the mattress, he started again when he heard a whimper beside him. Rolling over, he blinked Nathaniel into focus, realizing that the other man was twitching in his sleep, letting out soft, distressed sounds.

"Ser?" He cleared his throat, letting his voice come out a little stronger. "Ser?" No response, save another whimper and a slight flail of his hand. Anders frowned and reached over, giving him a little shake at his shoulder.

Before he could take in another breath, Nathaniel had rolled over, seizing the offending hand with one of his own and pinned it to the bed. His other arm stretched across Anders' neck, the give of the mattress the only thing that was saving him from completely choking from the hold.

"Nathan-" he rasped out. "Nate?"

Blinking, the other man seemed to come more awake. Realizing the position they were in, his eyes widened and he abruptly released his hold, pulling away and looking at his hands as if they had suddenly grown claws. His worried gaze traveled over to the mage. "Anders, I'm sorry. I'm-"

He managed a weak smile. "Was my own fault, Ser. I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"No. No, it was not. I was...dreaming. The darkspawn." He rubbed his brow. "I suppose certain habits don't go away, even when you're sleeping. I'm sorry."

Anders shook his head to refuse the apology again. "I'm sorry, too, Ser."

The rogue shook his head. "You've nothing to apologize for, but I have a feeling we'd be arguing circles around that statement for days, so," he took a breath, "thank you, at any rate, for waking me from that dream." He frowned, presumably at the memory of it. "And as long as we are awake, what say you to some breakfast?"

He managed a little smile. "Sounds wonderful, Ser."

After that, the day passed like many of the others: the four wardens would train together, or rather, the other three would train and Anders was mostly there to make sure they didn't accidentally kill one another. Most of his participation was more on the declaration of his spells rather than any attempts at casting them, as Zaphyre didn't want anything destructive potentially damaging what she was trying to have repaired.

While they were taking a break, Varel approached and motioned for Zaphyre to join him. The three men stood together, watching the commander and starting to share a worried look at her body language. The Orlesian first crossed her arms, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Then came the tipping back of her head, followed immediately by it sagging forward. Dismissing the seneschal with a wave, she padded back over to them.

"Our practice is over for today. It would seem that I must be a proper," something came out in Orlesian before she corrected herself. "Arlessa. Our Varel has been keeping this little gathering a secret from me, as I think he fears I would rush off and hunt down the darkspawn instead. By the evening, we should have guests arriving. I wish for you all to join me. You are my Wardens, after all."

Surprisingly, nothing spiked in Anders' chest as she used the possessive term. It could be because he was more worried about being surrounded by a gathering of the banns and other important people of the arling.

"And how would you have us dress, Commander? As Wardens or as members of your house?" He looked over as Nathaniel asked that, the question seeming to make the notion that the man _was_ the son of the former arl all the more pointed. Most of the time, he was simply Nathaniel.

"I've no wish for you to have to stand in court in your armor, but I haven't the time to send you to the city, either." She waved a hand dismissively. "See what the other Wardens left behind. They surely won't mind." A wry smile twisted at her lips.

"Great. Time to go see if I still have those clown pants," Oghren muttered under his breath.

Anders thought it wise not to ask, instead sharing a bow with Nathaniel and then following him into the Keep. They found themselves in one of the chambers that had been set aside for storage.

"Check the trunks there, Anders. I'll search these."

"What...what should I look for?"

"Something fancy that will fit." The rogue was already picking through the first chest.

Anders looked down at the robe he was wearing, one of the salvaged ones Zaphyre had given him on his second day, after she realized he hadn't changed out of the one that he'd been wearing.

"Can't I just wear these?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "You'll blend in more if you're in formal attire. Trust me." He stood, walking over with a shirt that looked like embroidered white silk. "Turn around."

Anders obediently presented his back, feeling the garment pressed against his shoulders. "What should I expect at this gathering?" What he really wanted to ask was 'How should I behave?' but he didn't think Nathaniel would give him the answer he wanted.

"That should fit. Now you just need breeches," he continued absently. Returning to the trunk, he drew out something in a dark blue for himself, holding it up and frowning as he set it aside. "I've a feeling we'll be expected to simply stand there and remain present but invisible to our commander's honored guests," Nathaniel remarked, picking through more of the clothes in his trunk. "This is her ceremony, after all."

Anders chuckled softly. "Then I shouldn't be much of an embarrassment to you, Ser. Being ignored is something I do my best to encourage."

Nate stopped his search and sighed, pushing himself to his feet. "Anders-"

The mage knew what was coming, simply standing there, his head bowed, hands folded in front of him. He certainly wasn't expecting the brush of fingers through his hair, picking his head up in surprise.

"You're a member of the Grey, Mage. You have every right to be there, same as us. And don't let anyone tell you differently." A crooked smile played at the rogue's lips. "Besides, Oghren's going to be there. I have a feeling he'll be drawing enough attention for all of us."

Anders' couldn't help it. A soft laugh escaped his lips. "He is quite the distraction, isn't he?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "You should have heard him the other night, screaming about something called schleets and going on about eyeballs. Took a whole keg to calm him down."

Hiding his mouth behind his hand, Anders found himself chuckling. Nathaniel reached up and took hold of his hand, drawing it away. Clearing his throat, Anders did his best to get his laughter under control, his eyes turned down again.

"You don't laugh often enough. And you certainly don't seem to smile much, either."

"Haven't really had much cause, Ser." His gaze flicked up. "Not until here."

A very faint smile came to the other man's lips. "Then I'm glad we've given you a reason to."

Anders dropped his gaze again, feeling a warmth starting to creep to his cheeks. Gently sliding his fingers away from Nathaniel's, he turned to put his attention on searching through the trunks again, grateful that he could hide behind the pretense of work. He wasn't exactly certain what to look for with regard to breeches for himself, leaving that task to Nathaniel. He did, however, find a shirt of a material that didn't quite feel like silk but was just as soft. It was a slate grey in color, nearly the same as the other man's eyes.

"Do you think this will fit you?" He walked over and stood behind him. Nathaniel straightened, squaring his shoulders so Anders could size the garment against them. "It does. I mean, I think it does. It seems to fit."

Nathaniel twisted around and gently tugged it from the mage's hold. "I think it'll do just fine." There was a moment's pause. "Thank you."

Anders felt the blush creeping back to his cheeks again and barely stammered out a "You're welcome, Ser," before retreating back to pretend to be looking through the trunk once again.

Once they'd managed to find the rest of what they needed, they left them in the room before heading for the baths in one of the lower levels of the keep. It surprised them both to see Oghren there, meticulously clipping at his beard with a pair of shears.

"Commander's orders," was all he'd say on the matter.

Suitably groomed, the two men headed back to their room to dress. Varel had come by to announce that they'd have time for a meal before the first of the guests arrived, though there'd be light fare at the gathering itself. All through their supper, Anders kept running a hand along his thigh or rubbing it over his knee. So used to robes, he wasn't comfortable with the feeling of the garment around his legs. It wasn't until another hand settled over top of his own that he realized how much he'd been doing it.

"Stop fidgeting, would you, Mage? You're making _me_ nervous."

He huffed out a breath. "Sorry, Ser," he whispered, curling his hand up instead. He felt a squeeze around it before Nathaniel's fingers slipped away.

They passed the meal in relative silence, though as they rose to head into the hall, Nathaniel laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll be fine," he whispered, giving him another squeeze. "Just stay with me."

Looking at the gathered nobles, Anders swallowed, having every intention of following _that _order to the letter.


	5. Chapter 5

((Author's notes: Still own nothing of Dragon age or Awakenings but Zaph's still with me, at least. Short little chapter this time with the ceremony happening and winding down and is that Anders getting it a spot of trouble? *grins*))

* * *

Nathaniel's prediction about the evening had been mostly correct. The banns of the area congregated in the main hall of the Keep, mingling with one another and, for the most part, ignoring Nathaniel and himself. Oghren was, also as predicted, quite a distraction, though it seemed more as a novelty to those gathered than for his behavior. It didn't hurt, either, that he had stories from the Blight, something that held his audience fascinated.

Anders spent his time watching Nathaniel, taking cues from him on how to act, how to stand, and how to blend with the background so they weren't bothered overmuch. He found it amusing that no one spared him a second glance after initial introductions. The noble had been right about that as well. Dressed as he was, no one gathered that he was a mage, and though he was content with being ignored, it was a decidedly different feeling than being looked down upon.

Of course, no one paid attention to them once Zaphyre made her presence known. She swept into the hall as if she had been doing this her entire life, mingling immediately, going through polite introductions, smiling and nodding at all the right moments. And then, of course, there was the actual fealty ceremony itself, where the banns pledged their loyalty to her. During a couple of the speeches, he heard Nathaniel snort but it wasn't the time or place to ask. Perhaps later, when they were alone.

Once the formalities had been completed, the group went back to socializing. Though he was rather used to standing around, he noticed Nathaniel starting to fidget. It was clear he didn't want to be among those gathered but staying out of sight like this was starting to take its toll. Anders brought up a hand, fingers curled for a moment, before he reached out and rubbed small circles on the other man's back. He felt him tense for a moment and then relax, turning to cast a subtle smile over his shoulder before putting his attention back on the room.

It was when he started again and put his attention toward one of the pillars in the room that Anders realized there was a serving girl there, hurriedly gathering up pieces of broken glass onto her tray. Slipping away from the other man, he skirted the hall and knelt down beside her to help her clean up.

"Ser, ya can't do that," she hissed quietly. "Not tonight. Go back ta the gathering."

"No one's paying attention to us. It's all right." He carefully gathered up a piece and dropped it onto the tray.

"As you bid, Ser." She hastily began scooping up the shards and paid the price for her hurry. Letting out a little whimper, she stuck her bleeding hand to her lip, sucking on it.

"Here." Anders reached out and brushed his fingers to hers, letting a small bit of magic spark between them. The servants had grown used to this spell, at the very least, and Zaphyre had no qualms about letting him use it as needed. In fact, it was a standing order, especially after the night of the darkspawn attack.

"Thank ya, Ser." Anything else she might have said was drowned out by a surprised male voice.

"A mage? You've a mage in your keep?"

Anders pinched his eyes shut. Of course the spell wouldn't have gone unnoticed. He passed the tray to the girl who beat a hasty retreat out of the hall as more statements and accusations began sounding around the room.

"There's no templar here, are there? A mage without a templar?"

"I'd heard rumors but I never thought-"

"What if he were to turn? What then?"

"That Orlesian chit is mad if she thinks-"

Anders was about to push himself to his feet at that when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Blinking past his anger at the insult, he found Nathaniel standing beside him.

"He's not without supervision," he stated in a level voice. "He's under my charge and he was acting under orders. I'm sorry if the lot of you have issue with that, but it's our choice with regard to the Wardens and the affairs of our Keep." His gaze trailed around the gathered banns, never wavering as it did so.

"That is true." Zaphyre's voice cut across the silence. "Nathaniel has proven very capable in minding our healer." Not 'mage,' not 'Anders,' but 'healer.' She was stressing that he wasn't there as a servant but as someone vital.

Of course, mention of Nathaniel's name caused a stir as well. He felt the resigned slump of the noble's shoulders as he forced a smile and began confirming that yes, he was indeed Nathaniel Howe, son of the former arl and yes, he knew what had happened and yes, he would be very happy to take a moment.

They'd done it before Anders or the nobles had even realized it had happened. By putting Nathaniel forward, they'd diverted attention away from him. Zaphyre was a mistress of directing people's attention where she wanted it to be.

Shaking his head, he caught the Commander's look and she nodded her head toward the door. He needed no second invitation to retreat, hurrying out of the hall and back to the peace and quiet of the bedroom. Given that he didn't think he'd be summoned back out, he stripped out of the fancy clothes and into his sleeping attire. As the hem of the robe dropped down to his ankles, he grinned.

_Much better._

Climbing into bed, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. The nobles really hadn't bothered with him until he cast his spell. It was true. So long as he didn't look the part, no one suspected him. Maybe they'd have to keep that in mind for the future.

Stretching out, he propped one arm behind his head, finding his attention drifting to the door and wondering when Nathaniel would be able to escape as well. In fact, he was still wondering it as he nodded off, woken what seemed like hours later to the sound of the door being shut a little harder than it probably should have been. He started for a moment, seeing a figure leaning against it, essentially locking out the rest of the world. Pushing himself up, he almost expected to find someone else hovering over his bed.

"Did I wake you?" Nathaniel's voice, despite being rough from so much talking, still slid through the darkness and into his tightened chest, relaxing him.

"Maybe a little."

"Sorry." He pushed away from the door and began stripping out of his garments. It always amazed Anders how Nate could walk and remove his boots at the same time without stumbling. "I had to listen to detailed and often conflicting accounts of my father's activities during the Blight. Suffice to say, Oghren's was the _most_ interesting of the lot and thankfully shut everyone else up."

"Did it bother you? Hearing all of that?"

The other man shook his head and simply crawled under the covers, not bothering with his bedclothes. "It did, at first. Then, like I said, Oghren started talking and I realized that he had no reason to lie. I originally came here to put an end to the Commander-"

"What?" Anders was wide awake now.

Nathaniel chuckled. "I blamed the Wardens for what happened to my family. I thought if I killed their commander it would be a blow to morale, it would send a message to the others. And then, as I walked the halls, I realized I didn't want revenge. I just wanted what was ours. To take some of my family's belongings and go. Of course, _that's_ when the Orlesians found me and hauled me off to the dungeon. They wanted to hang me but Varel insisted they wait on Zaphyre's decision."

"I'm glad, then, that he wouldn't let them go through with it. I wouldn't have anyone to watch over me, were that the case."

"You don't really need me, Anders. You're perfectly capable of living outside of my line of sight."

The mage closed his eyes, feeling the trail of fingertips through his hair, a gesture that had soothed away his nightmares many times. "I like being with you," he murmured softly. "It makes me feel human."

"Maker's breath, Mage, you _are _human."

Anders shook his head. "We can't truly be. Not with the constant threat we pose."

"Somehow I think you're less of a danger than you're made to believe. We're not always who people perceive us to be."

"If you say so, Ser," he whispered.

Nathaniel made an affirmative noise. "You'll have time to prove it to us and yourself tomorrow. I think Zaphyre is sending us to investigate a few darkspawn rumors. Then you'll be reminded of the real threat."

They lay in silence for a while, before Anders finally managed to work up the apology that had been sitting on his tongue. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel."

"For what?" He hadn't expected the noble to still be awake as well.

Swallowing, he did his best to continue. "What you had to do. I know you didn't want to be the center of attention. You did it for me."

"One of them would have recognized me eventually. You only helped quicken what would likely have been a painful process."

"Still, there's not many that would defend a mage." A smile quirked at his lips. "Especially at the cost of their own sanity."

The other man let out a soft laugh. "Perhaps I'd already lost that, minding a trouble-maker."

Laughter gave way to a sigh and Anders let his eyes slip closed once more. He wasn't quite willing to believe Nathaniel's words, but he did believe his own. And the way that they were now suited him just fine.


	6. Chapter 6

((Author's note: Still owning nothing that Bioware doesn't already, except Zaph. I take full responsibility for her. Taking a little break to get out of the Keep in this chapter and we actually see a couple old friends make their appearance.))

* * *

Some time later, Zaphyre went with the two of them to Amaranthine to see about supplies for the Vigil and if there was any word circulating that might be important news for the Wardens or anyone else in the Keep for that matter. It had been agreed while they were traveling that they'd split up their duties to get them done quicker and, so he wouldn't be harassed, Anders found himself fidgeting with his breeches again. Thankfully, dealing with the merchants distracted him enough that he barely remembered he was wearing them until it came time to leave the stalls or shop.

For the moment, his current distraction was the apothecary. Though he'd made the purchases Zaphyre had instructed, he was studying the other ingredients on display. If he didn't know any better, he'd swore he'd seen some of them out when Nathaniel was brewing the poisons that he used. So distracted, he hadn't noticed the other customer that approached and was talking to the man behind the counter, not until their conversation lingered.

"And any elfroot you might have."

Anders looked over. That voice. It couldn't be, could it? He was...The templar claimed he'd been killed. Then again, why would they let on that a mage had successfully escaped?

"Jowan?" He breathed out the name, watching the man stiffen.

Waving to the apothecary, he turned from the counter. "Damn it all, I forgot my coin. I'll return later." If he'd left the shop any faster, he'd have been running.

Excusing himself as well, Anders hurried out, catching sight of the dark-haired mage weaving through the crowd on the street. As they both rounded a corner, he heard a curse. The alley he'd chosen was actually a dead end.

"Jowan, I know it's you. Wait. Please."

"Andraste's tits, Anders, are you _trying_ to bring the templar down on my head? Get away from me!" He tried pushing past the blonde and back to the street.

"Jowan, wait." He caught the other mage by the arm. "I don't have any templar with me."

He shrugged free, eyes flicking around. "Somehow I doubt that."

"No, I...I'm a Grey Warden now. The templar don't control me any longer."

Jowan narrowed his eyes, studying his face for the trick he was expecting. "A member of the Grey?"

"Aye. Their commander took me in after I escaped the Tower." He smiled weakly.

"It seems that we both owe something to the Wardens, then." Seeing the other's puzzled look he continued. "I was spared by one during the Blight. Given a chance to redeem myself. Still, that I had your luck, Anders."

An idea came to him. "I could talk to her. Zaphyre might..."

"No." Jowan shook his head. "No. I've got too many that depend on me now. I couldn't abandon them. Besides, I don't fear the templar finding me, unless it's by sight."

"How do you mean?"

"Before I left, I took care to destroy my phylactery." He grinned. "They've no way to hunt me now."

"And you wished for my luck. That I had your cleverness." The blonde chuckled.

"Seems we've both done what they said was impossible, haven't we?" Jowan looked him over, doing a double-take. "Maker's breath, what _are_ you wearing?"

"That we have," he agreed, then chuckled, a hand brushing down the front of his shirt. "I stand out less this way. Makes things easier on the ones that do mind me if folks aren't treating me like I've become an abomination."

Jowan's face fell a little. "You've...still keepers, then?"

Anders nodded once. "They're nothing like the templar. Nathaniel treats me well. Enough that I can even forget, sometimes. And Zaphyre trusts me and I would never break that trust. Though I should get back before she misses me. I think she worries the templar will scoop me away if I'm out of her sight for too long."

A warm smile touched the face of the other mage as he heard that, reassurance having given him a measure of peace. "It was good to see you well, my friend."

"Likewise." Anders reached out and pulled the other man into an embrace. "Be safe, Jowan."

"Levyn," he corrected with a grin and a wink. "You too, Anders."

"Levyn." He tried the name. "I hope to see you again."

"You just may." He smiled again, waiting on Anders to leave before exiting himself.

As he made his way back to the stalls, Nate arched a brow. "You look happy."

"Found an old friend."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He took a breath, hoping the other man wouldn't press. He wasn't sure how Nathaniel would take his consorting with fugitives.

"Well, you're smiling. Must be a good friend."

"He is."

"Good to hear. Now, come on." He inclined his head. "Commander's expecting us with these supplies."

Still smiling, Anders fell into step behind the rogue, the two finishing up their task and hurrying to meet their commander.

* * *

Given the distance between the city and the keep, Zaphyre decided that after their shopping excursion, they would stay overnight and set back in the morning. Acquiring rooms at the Crown and Lion, Nathaniel situated himself in the corner of the taproom, mug in hand. Their commander had expressed an interest in visiting the nearby Chantry and, against his better judgment, Anders had offered to escort her.

As they approached the doors, however, his steps slowed. Zaphyre reached over and laid her hand on his arm.

"I can see myself inside, Anders," she said with a gentle smile. "You enjoy the rest of your time."

He swallowed, forcing a smile to his lips. "Thank you, Commander."

Giving him a final smile of her own, she took the short steps leading up to the building all at once and shortly after, disappeared through the doors. Letting out a sigh, Anders turned away from the building and paused a moment, debating on whether or not he wanted to head back to the inn straight away. The thought of Nate sitting there and drinking alone didn't sit well with him. He certainly could use a partner, couldn't he?

Smiling to himself, he turned and made his way back toward the inn, passing a few small shacks that framed some of the alleyways.

"Ser? Can ya help?" The voice hailing him belonged to a younger man who was currently trying to shoulder a wagon out of a rut. There was an older man with him, but he didn't seem in much condition to be able to help.

Glancing around, Anders found he was the only one they could have been speaking to. "I'm not sure how helpful I'll be, but I'll certainly try."

Approaching, he followed the man's suggestion that he take a position near one wheel while the youth took the other. The two hunched forward, pushing as hard as they could. Anders could feel his feet slipping on the cobbles, no purchase for him to hold on to and give him enough leverage to move the blasted thing.

"Once more?" the young man asked. "Felt like we almost got it that time."

"You're obviously more confident than I am, but let's try." Anders leaned into the wagon again, pausing after a moment when he realized he was the only one trying to push. "Now, come on. This was your suggestion."

The young man smiled. "And I thank you for your help, Ser Mage."

Ice. "What?" he managed to breathe out before someone seized his hair from behind and jerked his head back. A cloth clamped over his mouth, muffling the shout that passed his lips. He had a second to register that the fingers gripping him belonged to a woman.

"Well, look at this. You can dress up the trash, but it's still trash." Rylock's voice purred close to his ear. "I knew I'd find you if I waited long enough."

A muffled "Let me go" tried to push its way past the gag but the sound of it only made her chuckle, giving him a little shake. As he tried to reach around to grab at _her_, the other two advanced, the younger going for his arms while the older crouched down toward his feet.

"Bind him up. We need to get him out of here before that little bitch finishes her business with the priests."

Anders kept struggling, suffering scratches and smacks as he pulled himself loose. The younger man finally had enough and leaned in, hitting him solidly in the stomach. As he sucked in air, trying to catch his breath, he finally noticed the sharp smell on the cloth. He knew it from somewhere...from...Maker, why was he so tired all of a sudden? The smell. It was...Nate used it. Extract of...something. It...no! No, he couldn't fall asleep. He had to fight this...had to...

He started to thrash his head, trying to pull away from the cloth, kicking his feet only to have them nearly swept out from under him. Ropes bit into the skin of his wrists and he was finally brought completely off his feet to have those bound up as well. Rylock stuffed the cloth into his mouth and the two men hauled him up and tossed him into the back of the cart. Before they covered him with canvases, they forced a different bit of cloth between his lips to muffle any noises he might make. It hardly mattered, though, as darkness was beginning to creep around the edges of his vision. He'd inhaled too much and it was making it too hard to keep his eyes open. He could hear the men laughing as they climbed up into the cart and didn't want to know what they'd been discussing. He was so tired, he didn't care. All he wanted to do was just close his eyes, even if everything else inside of him was screaming for him not to.

Unable to fight the drug any longer, his lids slipped closed and everything faded away.


	7. Chapter 7

((Author's Notes: Still don't own anything Dragon Age or Awakenings related, except for Zaph, and after this chapter, that's probably a good thing *laughs* *Deep breath* So, this is it, actually. The final chapter. It's long, too, because the breaks weren't suitable. This is where the M rating really kicks in, btw, so have cookies and juice ready for the poor mage. Especially since he wakes up somewhere he'd really rather not be... As a side note, I'm very proud of Nate in this chapter, but I think that's just author gush *laughs*))

* * *

He came awake to the feel of something stinging his cheek. There was a muffled crack of a sound and then came the sting again. Forcing open heavy eyelids, he felt his head jerk as he was slapped again.

"About time you came around, you lazy piece of garbage." Fingers seized his hair, pulling his head back again, forcing him to look up into Rylock's face. She shook him once and then let him go.

Anders was only vaguely aware of where he was. Inside. A storage room, perhaps. Rylock's armored boots were in front of his downcast eyes. His shoulders ached and he wasn't sure if he could feel his arms or not. Hazarding a glance from the corner of his eye, he realized they were chained above his head. He was gagged, kneeling on a stone floor, and he was cold from being stripped bare.

Something rough slipped under his chin and forced his gaze up. Leather. His mind realized that it was leather. Rylock was looking at him from the end of the crop that she clutched in her hand, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a satisfied smirk.

"I told you our time together wasn't over, mage." Moving the switch away, she knelt in front of him, taking his chin in her hand, forcing his face to remain level with hers. He still lowered his eyes, fearful of what she'd do if he dared try and look at her. "You owe me four lives. And I'm going to collect."

"I di-rn't," he protested around the gag.

She backhanded his cheek. "Not another word." Her own were hissed through her teeth. "The only thing I want to hear out of you, mage, is your screams."

Anders pinched his eyes shut, refusing to let himself whimper. She'd tried before to break him of his rebellious streak and he'd shown her how well that had taken by running away. She'd failed before and she was going to fail now.

The bite of the crop across his back sung through to his resolve. Clenching his teeth, he bit down on the gag and groaned into it, but nothing further passed his lips. Another strike made him twitch, made the chain holding his arms rattle. And another. And another. He started counting out of morbid fascination. Concentrating on the numbers was better than thinking about the pain.

She stopped at twenty-six. His back stung and he could feel trails of what he hoped was sweat trickling their way down his skin. Muscles ached and he could feel the tremble that was running through them. He heard the swish of the crop and flinched, still tense for a blow that never came.

Rylock laughed. "Looks like you can be conditioned after all." She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand.

He knew what she wanted: a nod or a nuzzle. It was a sign of accepting, of giving in. When she didn't get it, she growled, sliding her hand up to jerk his head back by the hair.

"Listen to me, mage, and listen to me good. You're mine. You think that Orlesian whore has any true say in what happens to you mages? That little show of hers about conscripting you?" She scoffed. "If the queen hadn't been there, I'd have dragged you back to the Circle with me just like this." She shook him again. "But you had to go hide behind her skirts. And now, there's no Warden to protect you. No queen." She turned his head toward a door he hadn't the chance to glimpse. "My men are out there and do you know what they're doing, hmm? Waiting. Waiting for me to finish playing with you. Because I told them I was going to be generous. Once I'm done with you," she released his hair and let her short nails drag down his chest, "then they get to have their turn."

Anders tried to steady his breathing, hoping that would help control the tremors that she was causing, but it was becoming a lost cause. He ached from the beating and he could feel the muscles in his arms starting to tremble. And though he tried not to show it, her "promise" terrified him. Too many unbidden memories crawled back into his mind and though he tried to tell himself he wasn't young and weak any longer, the pain disrupting his thoughts told him he would still be just as helpless. With the templar around, he wouldn't be able to focus any of his magic. But that didn't mean he was just going to give up.

"Yuh shurr," he mumbled around the gag, careful to keep his 'tone' humble.

"What's that mage?" Rylock arched a brow. He make a bit of a noise and watched her smirk. She knelt in front of him and pulled it loose, away from his mouth.

"You shouldn't," he breathed out as soon as he could speak, "have called Zaphyre...a whore." Lunging forward, he cracked his forehead into her temple, the blow causing her to fall back onto her ass with a surprised grunt.

Massaging her head, she glared at him as she picked herself up. "That," she growled, "was your last mistake."

* * *

Anders woke to the feeling of being slapped again. Twisted humor had him thinking he much preferred the buckets of cold water. At least then it washed away the blood, among other things. His _generous_ captor had deigned that her men needn't wait until she finished with him. Between the beatings, she let them "have a bit of fun" while she rest her arms. Adding to that was the feeling of having his mana leeched away, an emptiness that wasn't quite the gnaw of hunger, but more like the feel of something _missing_ that gave him a constant light-headed feeling.

"If I'm not sleeping, mage, neither are you."

Anders glared up at her, spitting an insult around the gag. He'd long since given up being cowed by her. No matter what he did, she'd punish him.

"Huh. Perhaps you're not as tired as you look. Another go, perhaps?" She pitched her voice louder, calling in another templar. "Or maybe you'd like more of my attentions?" Her fingers played over the crop.

The door creaked open, but there was no sound from the other room. No laughter, no jeering, no hoots of encouragement like there'd been before. Instead, the voice there was quiet, dangerous, and familiar.

"You have something that belongs to me."

Rylock whirled on the door, her face twisting into a sneer. "All I have is a worthless piece of trash that killed four of _my_ men. He's lucky he hasn't been sent to join them yet."

Oh no. She'd been having too much fun torturing him to let that end any time soon. And with his luck, she probably would have bullied some other mage into bringing him back from the Fade just so she could do it some more.

"Anders is a Grey Warden. You have no authority over him, woman."

"He's a mage who never quite learned his place," she spat back. "That makes him dangerous, Warden or no."

"Then he becomes our problem, not yours. I'll only say this once more: release him. Now."

There was the rattle of her blade leaving the scabbard. "Then take him, if you can, boy. It will be fun watching him weep over your corpse."

Anders watched in horror as she charged across the room at Nathaniel. The rogue threw himself forward, somersaulting away from the door, giving himself more room to maneuver. There was the dual scrape of his daggers sliding free from the sheaths on his back. Rylock changed direction and began stalking across the room.

"You should be thanking me, boy. I'm doing you a favor."

"How is torturing my friend a favor to me?" The two of them were circling around one another, neither one willing to close the distance between them just yet.

"He's an undisciplined mage. He needs to learn how to submit so he doesn't become corrupted and destroy us all."

Nathaniel snorted. "You're talking as if he were the monster here."

"He is! They all are!"

"He's just as human as you or I! The lot of you seem to have forgotten that!"

"They'll turn on you just as soon as they'd blink," she snarled.

"Perhaps if you didn't treat them like animals, they wouldn't react like them when they get pushed." One minute Nate was there and the next, he seemed to have flickered out of sight. Anders knew he had to still be in the room, and yet, it was almost as though he'd become one of the shadows on the wall.

Rylock circled around warily, her blade at the ready, lashing out whenever she heard a scrape or what seemed like a step. "You talk about things you don't understand. We do. There were some of us that were there for the aftermath."

"Ah yes, like your precious Cullen. Anders told me all about him. How he was tortured by blood mages. Yes, I can see how he'd be the perfect one to leave in charge. Perhaps you can recommend a reliable fox, next? I have some hens that need watched over."

"Hold your tongue!" She swung out and her blade was stopped by the cross of Nate's daggers. He pushed back, the metal scraping together and darted around behind her. The cries that she let out were the only indication that she'd been hit. His movements had been that fast. "You know nothing!"

"I know that I'd trust Anders with my life. In fact, I have. I know he doesn't deserve to be here." The words began floating in and out of the shadows once again. Rylock strode around the room, swinging at the darkness, causing the rogue to retreat more than once. "And I know that in spite of what you think, in spite of all you've done to him, I know he doesn't want me to kill you. His heart hasn't been stilled by your so-called discipline."

"Hah! He'd set me on fire just as soon as you please if it meant getting out of here with his skin intact. I'm not stupid."

"No?" There was a touch of laughter in Nathaniel's voice. "Then why aren't you wondering why I've been stalling instead of coming at you?"

"What? Stalling?" She laughed. "Here I took you for a coward, boy. Stalling." She scoffed and then the exhale turned into a more violent cough. "What?" she managed to gasp out.

"It's called soldier's bane. I imagine you're feeling a bit sickly right now, aren't you? You've fought mages too long, _girl_. You forgot that some of us can actually fight back without magic."

"Tricks!" She headed for him again, Anders not missing the stagger that was in her step as she did so and how she wasn't holding her blade as high. "All of you resort to tricks! Well, I know how to counter them!"

"That's what you think." Nathaniel was currently skirting around the room, extinguishing the lanterns as he went, either by dousing the flame or smashing them outright. Rylock may have been a formidable fighter, but in the darkness like this, Nate had the advantage. It was what _he'd_ been trained to do.

"Coward!" Anders could hear the whistle of her blade as she spun it around the room. "Too afraid to fight me with honor?"

"You're about to know how it feels to fight against your 'honor.'" He could hear the sneer in Nate's voice. "Helpless. Never knowing where your punishment is going to come from." And by the hiss the templar let out, he wasn't holding back on his lesson, either. "Wearing you down, beating you down, until you finally give up and just submit. Your kind doesn't train mages, bitch. You break them."

There was a cry of rage and a fierce sing from her blade as she whipped it through the air, desperately trying to lash out at the rogue. "I. Am going. To kill you. You _bastard_!"

A chuckle seemed to float around the room. "Too late."

Anders was grateful for the darkness. He heard a fleshy squelch, followed by Rylock's shriek, the sound trailing off to an almost whine and then cut suddenly short by more sounds of blades connecting with flesh. When the room grew silent again, he heard the blades returning to their sheaths and footfalls crossing the stone to stop in front of him.

He could make out Nathaniel kneeling there, feeling something warm and wet on his fingers as he reached up and loosened the knot of his gag, pulling the cloth away from his lips. His hands then began working on the chains that kept Anders' arms suspended above his head.

"You...how did you find me?"

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Contrary to popular belief, I did not spend all my time in the Free Marches getting drunk and chasing skirts. I may have actually learned something."

Anders watched the other man work, hearing the scrape of metal as he picked at the locks on the manacles. As they popped open, his hands seemed to tumble down, landing over the rogue's shoulders. He sagged forward, face buried against the other's neck. Nate's arms settled around him, just holding him as the ache eased from his muscles.

"Time to bring you home, I think," the brunette murmured softly.

The mage could only nod, not trusting his voice. His grip on Nathaniel's shoulder tightened, as did the other's hold around him. Guiding them slowly to their feet, Nate made sure he could walk before leading him out of the room and into the main room of a sizable warehouse. Anders let out a gasp.

Bodies. Templar bodies. His gaze flicked between them, the realization setting in that each one either had their throat cut or an arrow protruding from somewhere vital. Unbidden, a soft, distressed noise escaped his lips.

"I do not think our mage approves, Nathaniel." Zaphyre's lilt drifted from one corner of the room. She was sitting on a crate, leaning casually against the wall.

Anders shook his head. "You...they're all..."

Nathaniel glanced once at the floor and then across the room to Zaphyre. "They were in our way."

"But you-"

"We gave them the chance to surrender." The Commander shrugged. "None of them took it. I do not kill those who do not deserve it."

The mage managed to bring a hand to his mouth, his weight sagging heavily into the body of the other man. "But this...why? I'm not worth...You killed all these men because of _me_?"

"You are a Grey Warden, Anders. One of _my_ Wardens. I will not see them so abused. I will not see _any_ so abused. Your templar seem to be the brothers to our chevalier. Those with power take it from those who have none." She crossed the room, laying a hand on his cheek, tipping up to press a kiss to his brow. He felt the weight of a set of robes draping around his shoulders, stepping away long enough to secure them about his body. "Though there are those that are not without power. And not without friends. Nathaniel." She murmured something to him and he nodded, accepting his bow from her as well.

Picking their way carefully through the room, Nathaniel lead him outside, leaving Zaphyre behind. She seemed to be humming something to herself and he swore he heard the sound of liquid splashing and the shattering of glass before they got too far away.

"Much as I'd prefer taking you back to the Vigil, you're in no condition to make that trip right now. The inn's not that far away. We'll head home tomorrow."

Anders brought a hand up, holding it to his temple for a moment, a glimmer of magic coursing through his body to take away the worst of the aches and pains. "You'll find I can do a lot of things and not complain about them."

"And I say you need the rest. I know how long they had you, Anders. You need to sleep in a bed tonight, not on the road."

He looked over at the other man, more concern on Nathaniel's face now than there had been during his fight with Rylock. "Rest...would be good. And I should be fine in the morning."

"All right," came the quiet reply.

They stopped only long enough to get him a pair of boots to replace the ones that had been taken from him, Nathaniel insisting he not walk barefoot over the cobbles. After that, it was slow going, picking their way through the streets to the Crown and Lion. By the time they reached the front door, though, Anders didn't need to hang on to Nathaniel any longer. As the rogue guided him through the main room, Anders let out a soft noise as they bypassed the stairs, heading instead for ones that lead downward, utilizing more of the underground caverns that had been fashioned into large baths.

"You'll thank me for this. Trust me." Nate marched him into the room and stopped the two of them just on the edge of the pool. "Any chance you can get that fire going for us?"

Anders nodded and found that he had enough mana to ignite the kindling under the pots that boiled the water. As soon as that was done, he let out another noise, feeling his robes being undone. He pulled himself free of Nate's hands, backing away from him.

"What are you doing?"

"What the commander told me too. Taking care of you."

Anders shook his head, hugging his arms around his chest. "I'm fine. You don't have to-"

Nathaniel stepped close again, forcing him to look up at the rogue. Warm hands skimmed from his shoulders down his arms, sliding along them until he held Anders' hands in his own. "It wasn't an order, Anders."

He swallowed. "Oh."

A squeeze of fingers and then they slid free once again, seeking out the knot at his waist. "Trust me."

The words came out soft and Anders closed his eyes, feeling them seem to fill not only his ears, but somewhere in his chest as well that made his body seem to flutter. He nodded slowly.

Once the robes hung loose again, Nathaniel reached up to slide them off his shoulders, the fabric scraping lightly along his arms as he eased them off. His eyes pinched even tighter shut, not trusting his emotions enough to open them once more. He couldn't believe how such a tender gesture could make him nearly start to tremble.

"What?" His eyes snapped open and he was looking _down_ at the top of Nate's head, there being the light brush of fingers along the back of his calf.

"No boots in the bath." Nathaniel looked up at him with a grin, doing a rather poor imitation of their commander's accent. "Put your hands on my shoulders if you need to."

He couldn't help but smile at the jest. Laying a hand lightly on the other man, he managed to steady himself as he removed first one boot, then the other.

"All right, Mage, into the bath with you." He stood up, giving Anders a little nudge. "I'll get more water."

At the moment, Anders didn't care about the temperature. He simply waded in and sank down to his knees, welcoming the chill against his aching muscles. There was a sploosh of a sound and the heated water began mingling with the rest. A second and then a third were added before he waved off any more. It felt good to just soak there for a few moments, letting the water begin to ease away both pains and memories.

He hadn't even realized Nathaniel had joined him until he felt the brush of a cloth against his back. Straightening with a gasp, he started to turn around until he felt hands on his shoulders.

"Keep still."

"Nate...Nathaniel, Ser, you don't-"

"Is 'shut up' going to have to be the next order?" He felt a flick of the cloth against the back of his neck. "You're in no condition to be caring for yourself. Let me tend to you for once."

Anders bowed his head and swallowed. "Thank you."

No response, save the gentle brush of the cloth, moving from his back to his arms and then around to his chest. Leaning back, he felt the two of them press together, welcoming the comfort that came from their being this close.

Clearing his throat softly, he turned his head, glimpsing the other man out of the corner of his eye. "Nathaniel? May I...May I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

"When you confronted Rylock, you said she had something that belonged to you."

"I recall, yes." His arms circled further around him, crossing over his stomach.

"Did...Did you mean that?"

A chuckle tickled across the back of his neck. "I suppose I could ask you what you think that would mean."

"I don't know. That...can mean a lot of things, especially to someone like me."

"Someone like you?" Nate brought his chin to rest on his shoulder.

"You know what I mean."

"Mmm, I can't say that I do."

Anders bowed his head. "Don't, please. Don't jest."

He felt a soft nuzzle as Nathaniel brushed his cheek against his. "No jest, Anders. You answer to no one but yourself. I'd have thought Zaphyre would have made that clear by now."

"But the templars-"

"The templar make the mistake of forgetting that mages are human, same as they. Zaphyre is Orlesian. Does that make _her_ a monster? To some Fereldans, yes. I am the son of Rendon Howe, the man who helped orchestrate a great deal of...misery...during the Blight. I am not my father's son, but others refuse to see past the name. Our _queen_ holds the throne because her father is a king-killer. And you, Anders, happen to be a mage." Nathaniel reached up and stroked his hair. "All of us guilty by something we had no control over: the simple fact that we were born. So you see, someone like _you_ is really no different than someone like _us_."

Anders freed one of his arms, bringing a hand to him mouth, feeling himself start to tremble. His breathing grew shaky and he groped for Nathaniel's hand with his free one, taking comfort in the grip that he found there. As he started to pull away, he felt Nate hugging him tighter. Shaking his head, he squeezed the rogue's hand and was allowed to slip free, turning to kneel in front of him. Bringing his hands up, he cupped Nathaniel's cheeks, hands sliding down his neck to his shoulders. Leaning in, Anders buried himself against the dark-haired man's chest, wrapping his arms around him as he felt the other's coming around him in return. Gentle fingers combed through his hair as they had on so many other nights, each scratch along his scalp like drawing away another layer of tension from his body. Nathaniel had been trying to tell him all along. It was just that moment that he decided to listen and the realization slammed into him like a wave.

Picking his head up, he found himself nearly level with the rogue's throat. A little smile pulled at his lips and he leaned closer, letting a kiss brush against the skin there.

Nate drew back, his hold making them a little more level. "Anders, what-?"

He bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I just wanted-" The words died before they reached his lips. What _did_ he want? Swallowing he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel."

Warmth covered his cheek, followed by the gentle brush of a thumb. "Don't be. It's all right." He felt a sigh. "Just know that hearing your gratitude is enough for me. You know that."

He leaned close again, cheek resting against shoulder, arms around him once more. "I do. But...But sometimes it doesn't feel like enough." Picking himself up again, he raised his eyes to Nathaniel's pale ones. "Will you let me thank you?"

"Anders, you don't-" He cut himself off with a gentle sigh. "You truly want this?"

"I do." He swallowed, nibbling on his lower lip, forcing himself to hold his gaze up. "If...If you do, too."

Nathaniel's fingers brushed his cheek again, curling and trailing along his jaw, his thumb dusting at the corner of his mouth. Very slowly, he leaned closer, Anders finally allowing his eyes to slip closed as he felt their lips meeting in a tentative kiss, one which grew deeper as they both warmed to the feeling.

Drawing back, he reached his hands up to Nathaniel's shoulders, gently urging him backward. The pair crawled over to the side of the bath, the mage urging the rogue to take a seat on the edge, despite the chill from leaving the water. He let out a bit of a chuckle, making a joke about the cold when his laughter suddenly turned into a groan.

A smiling Anders had just let him slide free from his lips. "I trust this will keep you warm enough?"

"The templars were right about one thing. You're a wicked man." Hands propped behind him, Nathaniel let his head sag back as deep breaths heaved his chest.

Anders merely smiled again and leaned in once more, his hands alternating between skimming along Nathaniel's thighs and complimenting his attentions. Hearing his partner's moans echoing in the chamber only encouraged him to make Nathaniel feel _better._

He felt fingers sliding into his hair and he suddenly stilled, a little whimper sounding in the back if his throat. The hand immediately pulled back.

"Anders, I'm sorry." Nate's voice was thick and a little groan punctuated the statement. "I didn't mean-"

The mage cut him off by resuming his tending. Drawing back, he let his eyes turn up, watching the rogue's face as his tongue flicked against him. Kissing the tip, he smiled. "Just talk to me if you do that. Remind me it's you." He brought his lips around him once more.

Nate actually kept his hands to himself after that, given that he'd sagged back further, needing the support. There were, however, encouraging words, peppered with breathy curses, and the occasional buck of his hips. Anders found himself thrilled with every moment of it. To be pleasing someone for more than the sake of physical gratification. For the first time, he found himself wishing he didn't need to stop, wanting to prolong this as much as possible for the other man. And when he finally did bring him over, he found himself groaning just as deeply, not drawing back until he was sure his partner was spent.

Pushing himself up again, Nathaniel reached out, brushing his fingers along Anders' temple, letting his fingertips comb through his hair. Anders watched, backing up with a curious sound as the rogue scooted forward, easing himself back into the water. Gentle hands took hold of his arms and drew him close once more, though he found himself turning away as the other man leaned in to kiss him once again.

"What's wrong?"

"You can't want to kiss me after I just-"

He felt his chin turned back and insistent lips pressed against his own. A heartbeat later, he let out a surprised gasp as he felt the pull of a hand around his own tense erection. Palms against Nate's chest, he tried to push the two of them apart, there being a soft growl before the other man relented.

"Nathaniel, please. You don't-"

"Anders, hush." The tone was playful but insistent. The rogue stroked his thumb along the mage's cheek. "I may not be," he paused, swallowing, "bold enough to return your attentions, but I want you to feel just as good as you made me."

He shook his head. "That's not why I-"

"I know why you did it. And that's exactly why I want to return the pleasure." He chuckled. "You're not going to make me make it into an order, are you?" One brow arched, accompanied by a grin.

Smiling, the mage leaned in once again, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck and feeling strong arms embracing him. His lips met Nathaniel's, brushing there as he murmured, "No, Ser," before surrendering to the kiss.


End file.
